


Proxy Play

by misura



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Ethan Hunt/Solomon Lane, Post-Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23767495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: In which August Walker deeply regrets his choice in co-conspirators or rather: said co-conspirator's choice in people to get obsessed with.
Relationships: Ethan Hunt/August Walker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	Proxy Play

Naturally, one could not expect a man who'd been stuck in questioning for the past two years to be entirely rational, but August had somehow managed to convince himself that Lane was _his_ kind of crazy, i.e. disillusioned, disappointed and a great proponent of world peace by any means necessary.

Instead, Lane seemed a bit ... immature. Juvenile. Obsessed with Ethan Hunt in a way that smacked more of a hopeless crush than a good old-fashioned grudge August would have been wholly comfortable exploiting.

"Look, Ethan Hunt is a nobody. The IMF is nothing," he told Lane.

"Ethan Hunt is a highly skilled operative who could be extremely valuable to our cause," Lane replied. "Whether he wants to or not," he added, which was a little bit better; August was all for using your enemies to reach your goals, but -

"I don't see why he needs to be involved at all," August said. He'd spent a lot of money, time and effort on a way to communicate with Lane. He was beginning to wish he hadn't bothered, which was irrational: he _needed_ Lane.

What he didn't need was Lane's schoolgirl crush.

"That is not your call to make," Lane said, as if August was the one stuck in a cell, wholly dependent on Lane to get him out.

"Involving Hunt is a mistake. He's nothing but an amateur who got lucky a few times." August scoffed.

"You almost sound jealous," Lane said, which was the last straw, really.

August reminded himself that as soon as Lane stopped being useful, he could kill him. If he played it right, it'd be a nice feather in his cap.

"Well, you almost sound like you care more about Hunt than you do about the plan," he said, which would have been a pretty good come-back, except that as far as Lane was concerned, Hunt _was_ the plan.

"Just follow your instructions, please," Lane said, and August could tell that 'please' was supposed to smooth things over somehow.

_Fuck your instructions,_ was what he thought, but what he said, of course, was, "Fine. Whatever you say," knowing that Lane would take it at face value that anything he said was, indeed, what August would do.

August tried to see the appeal. Hopeless, of course: he wasn't Lane, and he didn't see what there was to like or obsess about anyway. So Hunt had gotten lucky a bunch of times, so what? Plenty of people got lucky. It was practically a requirement for survival in their line of work.

Hunt smiled a lot. He made jokes. He was obviously close to his team. He _cared_ , in a way so earnest it made Lane feel embarrassed for him.

It didn't seem to matter that Hunt's 'caring' had worked to their advantage before and could therefore be expected to continue to do so. August knew what he was and what circumstances had made him, and to see a man shaped by many of the same circumstances come out of them smiling and cheerful and with an unshakeable belief in humanity as a whole was deeply annoying.

Fine, August told himself: if there's a thin line between love and hate, then yes, he supposed he sort of got where Lane was coming from after all.

Didn't mean he had to like it.

Definitely didn't mean he had to start getting close to Hunt or anything, but somehow, they kept getting stuck with one another. Never for long - Hunt probably wouldn't be able to function for more than 24 hours without any form of contact with his team (an observation August decided not to pass on to Lane; Mr Ethan-Hunt-Is-Hot-Stuff could find out the hard way, and if that ruined his day, sucked to be him). August tried to shake the feeling that if he stuck around long enough, Hunt would come to view _him_ as part of the team as well.

"So," he said, trying to sound like he was casually making small talk, "what's a guy like you doing in a job like this?"

Hunt grinned at him. "Saving the world about covers it, I guess. How about you?"

_Keeping assholes like you from 'saving' the world,_ August thought. He shrugged and said, "The work's interesting and the pay's lousy," and then he realized that he actually _wanted_ to make Hunt smile that stupid smile of his again which was wrong on so many levels he couldn't even begin to count them.

"You think killing people is interesting?" Hunt said, sounding extremely judgmental.

August told himself he only liked seeing Hunt smile because it made it easier to imagine hitting him until he wasn't anymore. It might even be true, he thought.

"I think some people need killing, and I think you're too squeamish to do the job right," he said.

"Huh," Hunt said, still sounding judgmental as hell. On the other hand, as far as responses went, 'huh' didn't exactly give August much to work with. He supposed he could make an argument of it, but it'd be a lot of effort for no reason. He didn't want Hunt to understand him, or sympathize with his cause or some shit like that. He just didn't want Hunt to find out the truth too soon.

"So. What shall we do for the remaining oh, fifty-three minutes we're here?"

Hunt grinned at him. "What do you want to talk about?"

_You,_ August thought, which was bizarre. He didn't need to know anything more about Hunt. "Who says we need to talk?"

Some emotion flashed over Hunt's face. August might almost think that Hunt _knew_ , that all this time when he'd thought he'd been playing Hunt, Hunt had been playing him instead. It would have been beautiful and, of course, utterly disastrous. Spending the next few years in prison and/or interrogation rooms was not part of August's plan.

And then Hunt smiled again, and said, "I'm open to other suggestions," and August heard himself make a suggestion that assuredly hadn't been part of the plan either, except for the bit where he couldn't help but think it would really annoy Lane.

"You fucked Ethan Hunt," Lane said.

August wondered if it was a good sign Lane was using the f-word rather than anything more flowery. Truth be told, he'd expected a bit ... more.

Then again, he'd also expected to be telling Lane what had happened, rather than have Lane state it as fact. "What if I did?"

Lane said nothing for a bit. August imagined him, eyes narrowed, fingers steepled. "Sorry. My mistake. You let Ethan Hunt fuck you."

"Is it really that important who was on top?" August asked. He'd started out thinking that, naturally, he'd be the one giving it to Hunt; he was more aggressive, more assertive, more of a go-getter.

"Maybe," Lane said. "Maybe not. I would need more information to be certain."

August laughed. By way of subtly fishing for details, it left a lot to be desired - mostly subtlety.

On the other hand, what had even been the point if not to brag about it later? It wasn't as if Hunt was any great looker or particularly skilled. August had had better, at any rate, though he imagined the same might not apply to Lane, who'd always struck him as a bit of a cold fish. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

"You really want me to tell you?"

Lane went silent again. August wished, not for the first time, that they were meeting face to face.

"You really wanted me to not ask?" Lane said. "I think we both know what motivated you to seek out a more ... intimate encounter with Mr Hunt."

August decided that the i-word was both wildly inaccurate and rather offensive. "Fine." Rather than argue semantics though, his best option for revenge seemed to be actually share the juicy details, which he'd intended to do anyway, so all Lane was doing was trying to ruin the moment for him, rob August of the satisfaction of having tasted the forbidden fruit (and now who was getting soppy?). August should know better than to let Lane get to him like that.

He heard Lane breathe in, and thought, _gotcha!_ before he started talking.


End file.
